


EloQuent

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post Mosaic, Season 3, Tattoo Play, The Muntjac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 15:56:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18626458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: Eliot explores Quentin’s cacodemon tattoo as they spend some time together on the Muntjac.





	EloQuent

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Noe, who gave me the inspiration for this on Twitter. I don’t own The Magicians: if I did, season 4 would not have ended that way. This is just for fun. Comments and kudos are magic: enjoy!

EloQuent

jagged_little-quill (Lexalious70)

 

“So, does it hurt?”

 

Quentin glanced up from the vanity table to see Eliot’s reflection in the mirror. He leaned on the alcove frame, his figure balanced and lithe against the rocking and pitching of the Muntjac as it raced over the waves.

 

“Does what hurt?” Quentin asked as he continued to hunt the vanity table’s surface for the black elastic band he’d set down earlier before bathing and washing his hair.

 

“Your cacodemon tattoo. Nothing lives there anymore, or at least I assume not.” Eliot entered the room, admiring the way the room lantern’s light raced along the length of Quentin’s hair each time the ship crested an oncoming wave.

 

“No, nothing lives there anymore.” Quentin picked up a hairbrush. “I forget it’s there most of the time now.”

 

“I’m still a bit jealous.” Eliot approached the vanity and took the brush from Quentin’s hand. “It’s really very exotic.” He began to brush through Quentin’s hair, working out a few damp tangles and gathering the tawny tresses in one hand until they gleamed copper, dark russet, and caramel, all mixed together in a combination Eliot had never seen on anyone before. He let the fine locks fall between his fingers until they swung down just above Quentin’s shoulderblades. Quentin sighed.

 

“I lost my hair tie,” he complained as he stood there in a pair of black linen drawstring pants and nothing else. Eliot shrugged.

 

“So leave it loose.” He took Quentin’s hand and lead him over to the bed, where long fingers coaxed him to sit with brief touches that were full of the promise of pleasure. Quentin sat—despite the lifetime he’d spent with Eliot and how much he wanted that magic to work in this universe, Eliot’s touch and closeness still felt oddly new to him.

 

“I wonder how powerful my cacodemon would have been, or if I would have let it go like Alice did. I know it’s a one-shot weapon, but it seems like something that would have come in handy.” He traced a finger along the curve of the inked Q on Quentin’s back, and Quentin swallowed a gasp as the marked skin and what surrounded it seemed to come alive at the touch. Even without magic, Eliot’s fingertips set off a fuse that burned along the ink, leaving tingling sensations in its wake. Eliot pulled his hand away as he felt Quentin twitch. While they’d both agreed that fifty years was no greater proof of concept, he’d be damned if he assumed anything regarding Quentin’s consent.

 

“Q? Are you all right? I didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

“No, you didn’t, I—” Quentin paused to collect himself, even though the sensations hadn’t faded much. “Just—when you touched my tattoo, it felt, uhm . . . unexpected?”

 

“Unexpected how?” Eliot asked, and Quentin swallowed hard against his skin’s demand for more.

 

“Like—remember that spell we discovered our second year at the mosaic? The sex spell?”

 

Eliot raised a dark brow. Apparently, Quentin’s memory was as photographic as ever.

 

“I remember.”

 

“It—it was like that. Only we don’t have magic here so I don’t know why . . . “ Quentin trailed off with a frown. Eliot took a moment to consider the finely-inked Q and then lifted a hand.

 

“May I?”

 

Quentin nodded, a warm dot of affection marking his heart at the request. Eliot traced his index finger along the outer edge of the Q, following the shape without breaking the pattern, and watched Quentin’s shoulders lift and tense. A soft sound escaped him, almost like a mewl, and Eliot hesitated.

 

“You still feel it, Q?” He asked, and Quentin shivered.

 

“Yes . . . God El, it’s like you’re touching under my skin, like—my nerve endings—and it’s . . . ohh.” Quentin bent his head forward as he brushed his hair in front of his right shoulder. Eliot smelled vanilla: Margo had seen to it that the Muntjac was well equipped with soap and shampoo, and he silently thanked her for it now.

 

“Feels good?” He asked, and Quentin rolled his shoulders in a wordless reply. Eliot placed his index finger at the highest point of the Q and pressed lightly before dragging it down the sweep of the circle, up, then back down to the tail, which he traced. By the time he reached the tail’s end, Quentin was breathing in irregular huffs, making small _umm umm_ sounds on the exhale like he did when he was working toward orgasm and Eliot grinned, delighted. “Let’s try something,” he whispered in Quentin’s ear, eliciting another shiver from him. A few deft movements had Quentin’s pants pulled away, and Eliot shed his satin robe as well.

“El—”

 

“Get up on your knees, Q,” Eliot said, and Quentin obeyed as Eliot knelt behind him. His own cock was already interested at these proceedings, nearly at full mast, the head wet. He put his hands on Quentin’s shoulders, his long fingers curling around the warm skin there, noting the slight dip on the right shoulder where the centaurs had repaired it, and slid his hard shaft between Quentin’s asscheeks. He rocked it up and down without breaching Quentin’s tight heat, until the warm folds were slick with his fluids, bent Quentin forward, and used the tip of his tongue to trace the Q tattoo, over and over. Quentin gave a quavering wail of pleasure and his shoulders jerked and tensed. Eliot dropped his left hand to Quentin’s erection and it pulsed against his fingers.

 

“El please, please . . .” Quentin moaned, his nerves seeming to send up flares of pleasure that were more intense than fireworks challenged by a summer thunderstorm. Eliot obliged, reveling in the needy tone of his lover’s voice. He slid around in Quentin’s slick heat as he moved his hand in a firm rhythm, the Muntjac pitching beneath them, as if sensing their pleasure. Eliot traced the Q with the tip of his tongue and then placed his lips in its center to suck on the skin there. Quentin stuttered out Eliot’s name and shuddered, his fingers and toes clenching as his pulsing erection fountained over Eliot’s hand. Eliot thumbed the tip as he rode Quentin’s slick heat, murmuring his name as he felt that delicious coil of tension build in his lower belly.

 

“My sweet Q, that’s it, let go, you’re safe with me, always safe, I love you—” the last word caught on pleasure sharper than a razor as Eliot’s muscles released their tension and he came, his hot load splattering up onto Quentin’s back. Quentin gave a helpless noise as some spattered across his tattoo and his dark eyes rolled as his cock gave another pulse and he came again, a sound like the joyous roaring of the sea in his ears. His nerves registered a near-total overload before the intensity lost its edge and began to cycle down into after spasms that twitched and fluttered through his cock. He became aware of Eliot’s weight leaving the mattress and a whispered “hang on,” before it returned and a cool, soft cloth cleaned him up with gentle strokes—ohh, bliss—before he was gathered up in Eliot’s arms. Quentin drifted, letting the Muntjac rock them as he buried his nose in Eliot’s chest hair.

 

“Magic where magic isn’t,” Eliot said after a moment, one big, elegant hand stroking through Quentin’s hair. The younger magician smiled.

 

“Dean Fogg told us the letters of our names are connected to who a magician is, and what he becomes. So maybe it wasn’t magic like we understand it.”

 

“No?” Eliot asked, looking down to meet Quentin’s gaze. His lover shook his head.

 

“I just think my Q knew its El finally came home.”

 

**Fin**


End file.
